


Mutually-Assured Destruction

by darkspur



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, And a special guest appearance by Arby's, M/M, Strexcorp, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkspur/pseuds/darkspur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after episode 32. StrexCorp begins their takeover by reeducating Cecil on the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually-Assured Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://singlecrow.tumblr.com/post/62816590571/sudden-alarming-night-vale-thought-spoilery-for). I took a break from my ongoing fic because I just _had_ to do it before episode 33.

"It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words."  
\--George Orwell, _1984_

* * *

_Oh…oh no. Uhh, dear listeners, we must issue an apology. Those helicopters are completely…safe. Even safer than safe. In fact, StrexCorp recently bought our little radio station from the mysterious, unseen forces who founded it centuries ago. Uhh, I’m glad to know that Josie will be okay, and that StrexCorp has come to Night Vale._

Carlos was frozen at his lab station. He knew the others were watching him, but they kept at their work as they listened to Cecil’s nervous backpedaling. They had to know it was wrong, Carlos thought. Had to know something sinister was happening, even by Night Vale standards. Why weren’t they afraid?

He realized he wasn’t breathing and inhaled through his nose. He dropped his eyes to the notes he’d been taking, but he couldn’t recall what they were about. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. Whatever was going on, Cecil would be done soon, and they’d talk about it at home. 

_Stay tuned next for the sound of slow, steady dripping, and occasional screams._

Carlos’ heart dropped into his stomach. On any other day, a segue like that would mean nothing, but today…

Michael reached over and shut the radio off.

“What are you doing?” Carlos demanded, and the younger man jumped.

“I mean, we always turn it off after the required listening,” Michael said, his face turning red. “Sometimes the other shows are a little distracting…”

Carlos looked at the others, who averted their gazes. “Is _no one_ else a little unnerved by this whole StrexCorp thing?” he asked. Michael shuffled away and no one answered. Disgusted, Carlos headed for the door, grabbing his keys off the rack.

The sky was its usual evening hue of lavender, and the darkness and helicopters surrounding Old Woman Josie’s house had vanished. It was all very still and very quiet, like the town was holding its breath.

“Carlos!”

He turned and saw Sua Nag hurrying toward him. He continued toward his car but she reached him and caught his arm.

“Listen,” she said, her voice low. “I know you’re worried. But there are some things we can’t get involved with, all right?”

Of all the people he’d met since arriving in Night Vale, Sua Nag had always been remarkably reasonable and poised, and Carlos valued her judgment. Her wide brown eyes were anxious now. Carlos took a deep breath and gently removed her hand.

“Cecil’s involved, so I am too,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry—I have to go.”

She knew better than to try to persuade him. “All right,” she agreed at length. Carlos gave her a grim smile and ducked into his car. She stooped by the open door.

“Just remember, if there’s real trouble…it’s not likely you can get out of town,” she said. 

He turned the key in the ignition. “I know.” 

Sua Nag tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as Carlos backed out. He put on the most reassuring face he could muster, though he felt sick to his stomach.

He didn’t know where to go—the radio station seemed like a bad idea. After a minute of deliberation he pulled into an empty spot in the far corner of the Big Rico's lot and idled as he adjusted the radio.

Well…there was dripping. Very soft, though, like lazy rain on a plastic tarp. Then silence. Then more dripping. There was certainly a rhythmic pattern to it, and Carlos began to breathe normally again. Maybe he had been overthinking it. He pulled out his phone and typed a text to his boyfriend: _Crazy day. Can you call me when you get home?_

He pressed _send_ when there was a faint, pained gasp on the other end of the radio. One that Carlos instantly knew.

He put the car in reverse, then stopped, then put it in park again. What could he do? He had literally no idea what was happening at the station—to barge in could very well put Cecil in more danger, not to mention himself. He leaned back in his seat and reminded himself to breathe, _breathe_ …

Cecil—yes, it was definitely him, there was no mistaking it—moaned again, though it sounded like he was struggling to keep himself quiet. He started to speak, some sort of a plea, when there was a splash on plastic and he was screaming, really properly screaming.

Carlos slammed the car into reverse and pealed out of the restaurant lot. There was another sound amidst Cecil’s wailing, and Carlos realized it was his phone. Sua Nag’s photo was flashing on the screen. He picked up. 

“Carlos, where are you?” she asked. Her voice was soft but stern.

“I’m going to the station,” Carlos said. His foot hovered over the brakes as he approached a stop sign, but he thought better of it and cleared the intersection.

“Carlos, pull over right now.”

“But—”

“NOW.”

Carlos swore and swerved off the road. “Okay, what?” he demanded irritably.

“Okay. Thank you. Now, you need to think rationally about this,” Sua Nag began, but a hysterical laugh escaped Carlos, cutting her off.

“ _Rational?_ Are you listening to this? They're torturing him!” Carlos spat. Cecil was choking back ragged sobs. He was some distance from the microphone, Carlos realized, because every sound was slightly muffled by the open space in the booth.

“I am listening. Michael and I took the radio to the break room,” Sua Nag said. Her tone was even and cool. “They’re not going to kill him, Carlos.”

“You don’t know that.” Carlos’ voice broke unexpectedly. He leaned forward and rested his arm and face on the steering wheel.

“I do, Carlos, just listen to me.” She paused. “Can you turn your radio off so you can focus?”

“No, that—” _wouldn’t be fair to Cecil._ The words got stuck in his throat.

“Okay.” She seemed to understand. “Just turn it down a little, at least.”

Carlos let out a shaky breath and turned the dial toward him slightly. It had gone back to the drips.

“Thanks. All right, I want you to sit tight and just listen to me for a minute.” She took his silence as permission to go on. “Everyone listening right now knows it’s Cecil, Carlos. They’re sending a message to us. What is it that they want?”

Carlos threw his hand up in frustration. “I don’t _know!_ ”  


“Yes, you do. Think about it.”

Cecil was whimpering, trying to resist the screams building in his chest. Carlos squeezed his eyes shut.

“Control,” he finally answered.

“Right,” Sua Nag said. “So they won’t kill him, Carlos. He’s the most loved person in town. Killing him would be the easiest way to rile everyone up. They just want to frighten us.”

“So—oh, Jesus,” Carlos broke off when Cecil began screaming again. But Sua Nag was making perfect sense, of course. If he went to the station, he could very well get Cecil and himself killed for putting a toe out of line.

“Plus they need him, Carlos,” Sua Nag went on. “There’s only one voice of Night Vale, and they need him on their side to keep everyone under the impression that it’s business as usual around here.”

Carlos’ mouth went dry. “You don’t think…”

“They’re reeducating him? It’s highly likely. They’ll probably continue to do so. Maybe not in such violent, drastic ways, but they will absolutely try to warp him if their intentions here are less than admirable.”

Through the blood rushing in his ears and the horrifying noises on the radio, Carlos could just barely hear Michael say something on the other end of the line.

“No, you’re right,” he heard Sua Nag reply to the young assistant.

“What?” Carlos asked, and for the first time the other scientist hesitated.

“Michael just pointed out that whether or not Cecil readjusts, he’s going to have to play the part,” she said. “At all hours of the day.” She paused again. “I’m sorry, Carlos, but I don’t think he’s going to be the same again after tonight.”

Carlos leaned back in his seat and swallowed the nausea creeping up his throat. “What do I do?” he finally asked.

“Go home and wait for him. I think it’s all you can do.”

“Okay." He willed his pulse to return to a reasonable pace. "Thank you, Sua Nag.”

“Of course. We’ll see you tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Carlos turned his blinker on and pulled back onto the road. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

She hung up and Carlos slowly placed the phone onto the passenger seat. The familiar city passed him by like a dream, places he once knew reduced to ghosts and shadows. Before he knew it he was in the kitchen, sitting with his head in his hands, waiting.

He still had the radio on, but it had cycled through more screams and was back to the mysterious dripping. Suddenly, Cecil gave a desperate, ragged sigh, and—

Dead air.

Carlos waited.

He prayed for the first time since he was a teenager at Mass, though he wasn’t sure whom to and what for, exactly. Just that Cecil was safe, wherever he was, and that he was _Cecil_. The same beautiful, rapturous, idiotic man he’d been that morning, and every morning before that.

The door clicked open.

Carlos looked up and leapt to his feet as Cecil walked in. He seemed the same as ever, neatly groomed and smiling.

“Hi, I—ahh,” he stopped when Carlos captured him in a tight bear hug. “What’s this?”

“Don’t give me that,” Carlos murmured into his shoulder. He pulled away just enough to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “What happened?”

“I finished the insect cataloging that Vithia was supposed to do, and then I went to Arby’s.” Cecil was frowning. “What did you think happened?”

“You…went to Arby’s,” Carlos repeated. He looked down and saw Cecil clutching a greasy paper bag. “You went to fucking _Arby’s_.”

Cecil was studying Carlos’ face now with equal intensity. “Yes, I got us dinner because I had to work late. Is that okay?”

Carlos let out a weak laugh and took half a step back. “My God,” he breathed.

Cecil stepped around him to the kitchen table, like he wasn’t even there. “Let’s just eat, all right?” he suggested.

Carlos shook his head slowly before turning to face him. “Nope,” he said. “No. You’re going to tell me what the hell happened at the station.”

“I already told you.” Cecil’s voice was clipped, but unmistakably raw. “In case you missed it, I lost another intern today, and had to spend time doing things that she would be if she hadn’t—”

Cecil closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just eat,” he said again. “Please.”

Carlos bit his lip, still livid, but Cecil was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. He sat beside him wordlessly.

“The roast beef sandwich is yours,” Cecil said. “Oh. I forgot drinks.”

He stood, but instead of going to the refrigerator, he made for the living room, which was still littered with half-unpacked boxes.

“Wh—” Carlos began, but Cecil’s finger flew to his own lips, shushing him. Carlos closed his mouth and watched as Cecil plucked a municipally-approved copy of _Slouching Towards Bethlehem_ and one of his ridiculous makeshift pens from the mess. He returned to the table.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, and Carlos caught the cue. He reached into the paper bag. The rustling noise covered Cecil opening the book and shaking the pen to life. He slowly unwrapped the sandwich while Cecil scribbled something in the margins. He slid the open book to Carlos.

_They’re listening._

Carlos’ heart contracted as though he’d been prodded with an electric shock. He looked up at Cecil, who nodded once. Cecil began unwrapping a sandwich for himself with quivering fingers while Carlos wrote back.

_Can they see us?_

Cecil left the food untouched as he replied but Carlos dutifully took a bite. It turned to ash in his mouth. 

_Not yet, but soon they’ll be watching everyone. Maybe even later tonight. You should ask me more about what happened._

Carlos gave him a wild, desperate look, unsure of what to say. 

“You seem upset,” Cecil prompted.

“Your…voice is hoarse,” Carlos tried. He thought it was terrible but Cecil nodded in approval, though his face was still cold and unreceptive.

“I talk for a living, Carlos. It happens.”

Carlos swallowed another bite of his dinner. He wished Cecil had gotten some water, because his throat was as dry as the desert outside. Cecil was writing again.

_They’re going to be listening to us now. Always. Even when you’re at work. Be careful._

Carlos laid his hand over Cecil’s. It was cold and clammy, and trembling in the slightest. Cecil slid his sandwich around on its foil wrapper while Carlos scrawled another question.

_What did they do to you?_

Cecil gestured at Carlos’ mouth. _Keep talking._

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said. Cecil nodded again and pulled his hand back. He started rolling up his sleeve. “I was just worried,” Carlos continued, “with everything that happened today.”

“That’s all right,” Cecil replied. “But like I said, we’re all safe.”

Carlos gasped. He couldn’t stop himself. The crook of Cecil’s left arm was a mess. He’d been jabbed more than once with an IV needle, it seemed, as a great bruise spread down his skin. The delicate flesh looked scorched, too, like it has been touched with some acidic substance. Carlos tried to fit the pieces together, but all his mind could do was ventures guesses about what kind of toxic liquid they’d been pumping through Cecil’s veins.

“That’s…that’s good,” Carlos managed. Cecil was writing again. “I’m glad to know that.”

_Don't know what it was. It would’ve burned through the plastic on a regular drip feed. They had to keep funneling it in small amounts._

Carlos blinked away the moisture in his eyes. Cecil reached into the bag and selected a curly French fry.

_You shouldn’t even have skin right now._

Cecil laughed once through his nose, then made coughing noises to cover it, which descended into actual coughing due to the state of his throat.

_Yeah, I think when they realized I wasn’t responding normally, it became a test of how much my body could take._

Carlos put his face in his hands. It was too much, it couldn’t be real, any of it.

“How was your day?” Cecil asked.

“…fine,” Carlos responded. Cecil reached over and squeezed his shoulder with his good hand. Carlos looked up and saw that he’d jotted another note.

_I won’t be able to tell you the truth anymore._

Cecil’s face had finally softened into sorrow and regret. His violet gaze had changed into something sadder, weaker, like the last light of a supernova. And Carlos realized the rest of him would change, slowly, right before him, and he would be powerless to stop it.

He held Cecil’s hand in his as he wrote his final note. Something he should have said so long ago, when he still had a voice.

_I love you._

Cecil turned the book toward him and his eyes widened. He pulled Carlos’ hand to his face and held it to his cheek a moment before kissing it softly. He flipped to a fresh page and wrote one last thing. He showed it to Carlos, who reached over and gently ran his free hand through Cecil’s hair before he took the book and the untouched food to the sink. 

Everything went down the disposal.

* * *

They didn’t sleep that night. For a while, their fear and worry kept them awake. Then Carlos felt Cecil growing warmer and warmer under his skin. A little after midnight he shot out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where he crouched, vomiting and heaving, for the next two hours. Carlos sat beside him, alternately pressing a wet cloth to his forehead and the back of his neck. First it was bile, then bile and blood, then an awful lot of blood, and then just anxious, violent air. Cecil was shaking all over when it finally ended. Carlos gathered him up in his arms and carried him back to bed. He changed him out of his sweat-soaked clothes tucked the dry sheets around him before crawling under the covers himself. Cecil was crying, silently, and the tears dampened Carlos’ shirt as the scientist thought of those last words Cecil had written, seared forever into his mind.

 _My dearest. I love you. And I am so sorry._


End file.
